In Memory Of
by mistressmarionette
Summary: A collection of shorts and oneshots in memory of the djinni we never met, Zeno. Chapter 5: Zeno reflects on the Past.
1. Chapter 1

**In Memory Of**

_A collection of shorts and one-shots in memory of the djinni we never met, Zeno. Critiques, comments, suggestions and ideas very welcome.  
_

"We should've left hours ago."

"Says you."

"We _should've_. I hate waiting."

"Really? I'm rather in love with it."

"Because you're a coward."

"…shut up."

"Nice comeback."

"No, seriously! Shut up! Look!"

Two salamanders simultaneously ducked as an eagle passed above them.

"What was it?"

"Dunno. Don't want to know."

"Oh, come on. We could've taken it."

"We? What's this "we"? _You_ could've taken it where ever you wanted, but don't think you're counting me in."

"Coward."

"Shut up."

"_Cow. Ward. _You are a _coward._"

"And you are a gung-ho, egotistical, devil-may-dare _idiot_. Some of us have a feeling of self value, you know."

"Self value's no fun."

"Are you kidding? I love self value."

The salamanders fell silent. The larger of the two shifted uncomfortably. "We should've left---"

"I don't want to hear it again, Zeno! There's no rush."

"They'll already be gone by the time we get there if we stick around too mu---"

"Fine then! If you're in _such_ a rush, then go! Leave!"

"…I don't want to leave you all by yourself, Bartimaeus."

"Well, that's very sweet, but I can live without your concern."

"But I'm _very_ concerned. If I leave you to yourself, you'll never go to the battle, will you? _Will_ you?"

"Not 'til I'm summoned, no. That's natural."

"It's cowardly."

"Who cares? Only you, Zeno!"

"We'll miss it if we keep sitting here!"

"Why are you so eager? There'll be plenty more."

"Well, yes, but…."

"But what?"

"But I want to see…"

There was a long, uncomfortable pause.

"See what?"

"Nobody."

"Oh, it's a _person_?"

"No!"

"It is. Wonder who?"

"It's nobody!"

"That 'nobody' business may have worked for Odysseus with the Cyclops, but it's not going to work for you with me. Who's this person?"

"…not a person…"

"What do you mean, not a---OH!"

The larger salamander was beginning to look a little scared. "What?"

"Not a _person,_ eh? Well, that makes it one of us, then, doesn't it?"

"What? No!"

"Uh-huh. Wonder who it could be? Come on, give us a clue. Do I know him?"

"No!"

"Sure, sure I don't. Let's see, who could---"

"Hey! You two!"

The two salamanders glanced over their shoulders. The smaller one groaned. "Oh, not you."

An eagle hopped triumphantly towards the pair.

"Thought you were going to skip out, eh?"

"I wanted to go, Queezle. Really," The larger salamander said defensively. "He wouldn't let me."

"I told you to go if you wanted!" The other salamander snapped.

The eagle shook its head, smiling a little. "Pathetic, the pair of you. Anyway, it's been cancelled. Hadn't you noticed how no one had summoned you?"

The larger lizard's jaw dropped. The smaller one danced with glee.

"But _why_?" The larger one whined. "The army---and the battlefield! A battlefield to die for---"

"You sick, warmongering little fiend," The smaller salamander chided. "This is a cause for celebration! Ah, glorious day…"

"Why are you so happy?" The eagle asked pleasantly. "It's not cancelled for good. They've set up a treaty for now, and you know how those things go. And you haven't been dismissed, have you?"

The smaller salamander stopped dancing. "Don't spoil this for me, Queezle," it said darkly. "I'm actually _happy_, for once. Why can't you just let me _be_ _happy_?"

"Because you won't be happy in a minute. They want us to scout for now, so you might as well stay here."

"Stay?" The larger salamander moaned. "Where are you going?"

"Spreading the word," The eagle shrugged. "To those that are still around to spread it to. Do you know, they dismissed quite a few of us."

"They _did?_" The smaller salamander gasped. "Then why am I still here?"

"It's a mystery," The larger salamander nodded. "Considering the pain you've been making of yourself."

"I can't believe it didn't work," The smaller salamander agreed seriously. "After all my hard work!"

"I've got to go," The eagle announced pointedly. "Try not to start anything."

"Don't worry, ma'am! I'll make sure young Zeno here behaves!" The smaller salamander saluted.

"Actually, I was more referring to Zeno about _you_," The eagle winked at the larger salamander. "G'bye, then."

The salamanders waved her off with their tails.

The smaller salamander turned to the larger salamander.

"Well, that wasn't a complete waste then, was it?"

"What do you mean?"

The smaller salamander winked. "You still got to see that person you wanted to see so badly."


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2! The beginning of Great Britain and Zeno's preferred form. Now edited with love and caringness. Thanks to the Thirteenth Councilor for the nice reviews!

Small, but a stocky build; meant to endure, to last. Greenish-blue eyes like beach glass. A sailor's shade of skin. Blonde hair that looked like it had been hacked at with a Swiss Army knife. A coat some three sizes too big. He claimed he'd seen this wastrel in the streets of Italy just before the Renaissance, but I had my doubts.

He ran up the side of the hill, fake boots kicking up small puffs of dust. "Lovely, huh? Urbanization at its best. This'll be a _package_ for us, Bartimaeus."

I was following more slowly behind him, gaze flickering skeptically over London. "It's no joke, Zeno," I said darkly. "That's the newest war-mongerer growing down there."

"Exactly! That's the best part!"

"You sick fiend."

"You coward," He returned cheerfully. "It'll be _fun_, don't you think? Cheating salesmen; greedy nobility; a corrupt government! Magicians, magicians, magicians! Little gangs of hard-ass kids pick-pocketing their way through the streets; a riotous middle class! We won't even have to change 'guises, just clothes! Somehow I don't think a transvestite is going to work with these people, you know," he added with a doubtful glance over his shoulder at me, still faithful to Ptolemy's form.

"It's a wrapped skirt, Zeno. As in _Egyptian_. As in perfectly hetero."

"Don't be sour."

I heard the pleading note in his voice and heeded it. Zeno's brave farces were a pain, but according to some my pessimism was just as annoying (though more honest by far).

He sighed loudly. "It's there whether we like it or not, so we might as well face facts and take stock. It's only half-built, after all." He spread his arms wide like a bird, coat sleeves flapping over the city. "Great Britain! Hail!"

"Wish they'd take the 'great' off."

"But it _will_ be great. I heard about the army they're packing---and didn't you see it? Since you were in Prague…with Queezle…" He added nonchalantly.

"Somebody sounds jealous."

"Of what? I hate Prague," He said breezily. His arms were still spread, and I wondered if the wind would catch in his coat and carry off the hill.

"You missed the fight, though," I said, deciding to ignore that he'd ignored my stab about Queezle. I could always nag him about it later. "Brilliant stuff. Blood and screaming and mass terror…just your cup, isn't it? You would have loved it," I added with a sick grin.

He tsked. "I bet I would have. Oh, Bart, we should have switched masters. Things were so peaceful in Finland; I thought I was going to die. Too quiet. And the master was so _sickly _sweet… But," He added quickly, "You got to spend a few last moments with your city. That pleased you, didn't it?"

I shrugged. "I guess."

His arms dropped. "You're still depressed, then?"

"Who's depressed? Not me."

"Yes, you are. Queezle told me that you were impressively downcast about the whole thing. And then she said it was your own fault for helping build such a shoddy little capital."

"It sounds like Queezle and I are going to be having an interesting conversation when I see her next."

"Hope I'm there. You two are a real show."

"Huh."

An awkward silence fell. I began taking a closer look at the half-constructed city.

"So, see anything?"

Zeno pulled a face. "Any what?"

"Any…you know!"

He made a big show of biting his lip. "I do?" He finally asked.

"The reason why we were _sent_ here? Our _mission_?" I emphasized, hoping to jog his memory a little.

"Oh? Oh! Oh, yes, _that_," He said quickly, glancing at the city. "Um…not particularly."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"So…how about you?"

My eyebrows almost flew off my face. "What about me?"

"Do you see any…?"

"Any what?"

"_You_ know."

"W-well of course I do! Don't you?"

"Of course! Don't _you?_"

"Of course I do!"

Another silence fell. Zeno began scuffing his boots in the grass; I started counting how many intersections London had managed to amass so far.

To anyone else, the city looked complete: it already had a strong downtown area with fancy-schmancy office buildings and parks and halls and little book-and-coffee establishments. And then towards the left you could see a nice, large suburbian octagon-rectangular thing right next to a few straight rows of large, smoky factories. But the downtown area didn't have a barrier yet, no walls or surrounding highways or anything, and it was the same for the suburbs.

London looked complete, but it was just getting ready to grow. The capitals of nations always do after a prosperous war. And with Gladstone heading the whole thing…

I turned to Zeno. He turned back, his shoulders hunched in an apologetic way.

"You don't really know what we're here for, do you?" I asked flatly.

He shook his head. "I got nothing. Do you?"

"Nadda."

We laughed nervously together.

"D-Do you think she'll mind?" Zeno asked in what I'm sure he thought was an offhand way. "The new master, I mean."

An ugly, sardonic grin was claiming ownership of my face. "If she asks anything, I'm putting it all on you."

"Oh, thanks." He puffed out his cheeks, and took another look at the growing city below. "What a way to start with Great Britain. This is going to be a _package_."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3! Zeno's artistic talents. It's all in the technique. I figure every djinn's got one.

I stared. Only Zeno could think of something like this.

And only Zeno had. The whole thing was literally saturated with his signature. On the walls, collecting in puddles on the floor, dripping from the ceiling, soaking the furniture, seeping into cracks and crannies to search for some means of escape. The whole room, bathed in thick, wet red.

And you can bet I'm not talking about port wine.

I nudged one of the corpses with my toe, trying to get a better look at the victim. To hope that it was someone my master had been acquainted with was asking a little much, but still…

As it turned out, my hopes were worthwhile after all. My current master's cousin's contorted features stared at me in blank horror from the ground.

Ptolemy's lip curled.

"You couldn't even bother to clean up after yourself, could you?" I asked no one in particular.

"Do you think I should?"

I didn't need to turn around to see his smirk, or watch him lick the red off his fingers-turned-claws.

"I thought it gave it a nice effect," He continued lazily. "Very ominous."

"Very cliché. Why don't you clean this up and write some nice, innocent graffiti on the wall instead?"

I could feel him frown. "Why?"

"I don't know. Irony?"

"Huh." He got bored with leaning on the door (or maybe finished licking the mess off his hand) and came to stand next to me.

"I like it," He said brightly. "Red's my favorite color. And these guys were real arses about the whole thing, screaming the whole time. Makes the effort worth it, you know."

I raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Effort?"

He gave me a vaguely wounded look. "Getting it to stay up there on the ceiling like that isn't easy, you know. See that even coat up there? You don't get it like that by flinging handfuls of the stuff over your head. That's imp work." He smirked then, his expression becoming ingratiating. "Want to know my technique?"

"Not particularly. It's not my style."

"You're squeamish?" He pressed his face close to mine, beach-glass eyes reflecting my jet ones hollowly. "Coward."

My head jerked back almost on instinct; he still reeked of blood. Or maybe it was just the room as a whole. "I'm not squeamish. I simply have better ways to invest my time. Goodnight," I added in afterthought as I made for the door.

He leapt in front of me. "You came here for a reason. What did you want?"

I considered brushing him off, but changed my mind, opting for a more coquettish approach instead. The Egyptian boy batted his eyelashes and said sweetly, "I wanted to see you, darling. I've _missed_ you and your humor _so_."

Zeno brushed a few stray wisps of blonde away from his eyes. He looked vaguely pleased.

The smile curled off my face like a peel off a banana. "Don't flatter yourself, you dunce. I came here for them. And since they're no longer available…" I made as if to shoulder past him, but he stepped in front of me again. He looked like he was ruminating something carefully. I waited patiently for him to speak.

Finally, he said, "By the way, mine says that yours is next." (1)

I blinked. "And?"

"And what? Yours is next."

"And you are telling me this because…?"

He glared at me exasperatedly. "You're killing the mood." (2)

"I humbly apologize."

He sighed. "Fine. Don't play along. You don't even have to thank me for my generous hint. You need all the preparation time you can get before an attack."

I shrugged disarmingly. "Prepare for what? I'm sure you'll do fine." I feinted to the left and then ducked right, evading his blockade. As I shifted into a small owl, I called back: "Mine badly needs some exercise, so I personally would suggest making him run a little first. Get his heart pumping. Who knows?" I glanced dubiously at the blood-soaked room. "Maybe you can make yourself another little masterpiece. That would please you, wouldn't it?"

He yelled something after me, but I couldn't hear him over the wind.(3) I'm sure it was just crass nonsense anyway.

1-Just to be sure I'm not losing you with a rather bad piece of grammar; the use of "mine" and "yours" is simply an abbreviation of a phrase no entity is particularly fond of: "my master", or, "my mistress". It's slangy and not commonly used by higher beings, but did Zeno care? Of course not, because he's a crass, crude, sadistic, super-bravado, overly macho…ooh, I really need to stop. Long rants are unhealthy, no matter how richly they are deserved.

2-He's even overly dramatic! It drives me insane sometimes, I could just---no. No. Need to stop ranting. Okay. I'm alright.

3-Not completely true. I heard the word "devious" in there, a long with a few naughtier phrases not worth quoting.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4! Zeno's "thing" and Hitler. And more gory-ness and disturbing mindsets. The rating had to go up…We've been learning a lot about WWII and Hitler and stuff, and I've been thinking so much about it I had to write something that was relative. And though Hitler was never mentioned in the Bartimaeus Trilogy…

And can I say that I'm rather proud of myself? This is the most regularly I've ever updated anything.

* * *

"You're disgusting."

"It's not disgusting. It's _taste_."

"Then your taste is disgusting."

"Oh, come on, Bartimaeus! We all have our favorites. Queezle has her thing for queens and serving girls, and you have your thing for child prodigies. I mean, look in the mirror. You're still _wearing_ him."

I was glad there were no mirrors around.

"So," Zeno continued patiently, as if he was lecturing me---me! Some younger, sicker, grotesquely-minded young upstart lecturing me! "So, if you can have your thing about genius-children, and Queezle can have her lesbian thing, why can't I have a thing of my own?"

"That's completely different," I protested, even though I knew it completely wasn't. "I don't have a _thing_ for---"

"I know, I know already!" He waved a hand impatiently at me. "You've explained this so many times: Ptolemy was unique, and the two of you had some kind of bond-thing that defeats all space and time. Which, by the way, is the kinkiest statement I've heard from you in this, and any, millennia. _Look_," He amended kindly when he saw the look on my face. "It was just one boy. One little boy walking down the street!"

"There was _contact._ He didn't even know you're not human. And you left a mess. And you're still wearing him!"

I was referring, of course, to the boy in the alley from just a few minutes before. The long-limbed, blue-eyed, _blonde_ thing had waltzed past us as we had innocently been standing watch near a construction sight. (1) I had been wearing Ptolemy's form (2), and Zeno is his mystery-Italy boy form, and as soon as Zeno saw the boy he promptly abandoned his post (3) and followed him all the way down the street, around the corner, and into the alleyway.

And by the time I got there…well. It wasn't the prettiest thing I've ever seen. I'll leave it at that, shall I?

Zeno looked vaguely mystified. "Well, of course I'm still wearing him. After all that effort, I would think that I _deserve_ to."

Ah, yes. All the effort of following a boy fifteen meters down the street, getting a good look at him, and ripping his throat out. And then proceeding to…well. Again, I don't think I'll continue. "You didn't have to put _so_ much effort into it. All you had to do was memorize his looks for later."

"I would have forgotten. You know what a bad memory I have for details. When it comes to these things, I just have to take what I can get."

"That's still no reason to rip him to pieces," I gestured at the mess behind us. "Look at this! Are you planning on cleaning this up? Because I'm sure not."

"So leave it. It looks nice."

"It looks like the beginnings of a mass genocide. Do you have any idea what ours is going to do when she hears about it? She'll know it was you."

"Not necessarily…I mean, do you really think? For serious?" Zeno had become rather fascinated with his new hands while I was talking.

"For _deadly_ serious, buster. Get to work."

"Why? I'm not worried. You can clean it up if you're so scared…coward," He stuck a tongue out at me.

"I'll tell her it was you."

"Tattle-tale. Fine, have your way." He made a big show of rolling up his sleeves and surveying his work.

"I like blondes," Zeno explained slowly as he worked. "Hitler rubbed off on me with his talk about the Aryan race being superior. Gold hair and blue eyes and long legs and all. I can't look at one without getting chills. Good chills, I mean."

"Which is why you just tore an Aryan candidate apart."

"Well, the Aryans weren't _real_. Hitler's weren't, anyway. And this one wasn't even German. So there." It was a bad excuse, and we both knew it. He looked down at the chunks floating in the blood. "What am I supposed to do with these, anyway? Chuck 'em over the wall?"

"I don't know. Didn't you think about that before you killed him?"

"Of course I didn't. I was thinking about blondes. And Hitler." He puffed out his cheeks. "We could just eat this. That would get rid of it easy." He saw the look on my face and raised his palms defensively. "Okay, fine, _I'll_ eat it. Is that better?"

"No!"

"Don't try to act all high and finicky, Bartimaeus. Blood has a lovely texture to it, you know. Or don't you? It's a good day to find out."

I glared at him. "No thank you."

He gave me an odd look, but shrugged. "Suit yourself. I guess we'll just have to leave this here and get into a bother with the mistress after all."

"I _refuse_ to get in trouble for your mess! Bury it or something!"

"But it's all asphalt and bricks. People will notice if they get dug up and put back in."

"Better than them noticing _this!_ Someone could walk around this corner any second!"

"Someone might. Who cares? There's no guarantee anyone will ever find out it was us." He began to look thoughtful. "If we found another person---"

"_No._ I'm not letting you have a field day."

"You assume so much. I only meant, if we could find someone else to take the blame, we'd be in the clear. That's all."

"That's the---" I stopped to think. I hated to admit it, but he had a point.

He looked expectantly at me. "The...?"

"The first intelligent thing you've said today." He seemed surprised. "What? The idea has merit."

"You mean it has genius," He said smugly. He began looking up and down the street. "My geni-osity."

"If you were a genius, none of this would have happened. Just go look for a scape-goat, all right? And don't kill him!" I called after him as he barreled down the sidewalk, nearly tripping over every crack.

I sighed. Zeno really had no grace. And no tact. And no subtlety. And no brains…

I looked back at the alley, and the pools of blood hidden in the shadows. Something floated towards me, and I squinted to see what it was.

An eyeball. An electric blue eyeball stared at me from the ground. One side of it was beginning to deflate, the fluid in it leaking into the blood-bath, and the pupil was diluted is fear.

No taste. Zeno had no taste whatsoever.

1-Standing watch for a construction site is one of the dullest jobs you can possible give a higher being such as myself. For Zeno, not being so high or nearly as intelligent, it probably wasn't so bad.

2-Something I should assume that you assume now, perhaps?

3-Not that I blame him or anything. Again, standing watch for a construction site is spectacularly boring. I was probably about to find a good excuse to leave myself. But the point is, I _didn't._ He did.


	5. Chapter 5

Eck. Took me a while to update. Anyway, this is pretty short. I decided to experiment with writing from Zeno's POV, rather than beloved Bartimaeus'. This chapter is sort of a continuation of the last chapter.

* * *

**Chapter 5! Zeno reflects on the Past.**

It used to be so simple.

The Man pointed and said, "Kill." So he killed.

The Man pointed and said, "Steal." So he stole.

The Man pointed and said, "Die." So…well, Zeno hadn't actually followed through with that one. But the point still stood.

But now?

The stooped-over, balding, decrepit excuse for a Man gestured vaguely and lisped, "Please see what you can do about making my colleague, Mr./Mrs./Ms. Etc. die/suffer/go mad/lose something/have a bad day. Or Else."

It confused him to no end.

And not only that, but his own kind were becoming the same way.

Once upon a time, guises were simple. Billowing Clouds of Smoke. Pillars of Sand. Cats. Children. Classic Things. And when witnessed by humans, Terrifying Things. Snakes. Bulls. Cyclopes. Rabid Dogs.

But now?

This Noble Deceased Egyptian Princeling---Who Was, By The Way, A Genius---With Whom I Share An Incredibly Kinky Bond That Stretches Across The Ages And Defeats All Space And Time.

And that was just _one_ example. It didn't bear thinking of how long some of the other titles were.

Zeno wasn't calling himself blameless, of course. He'd participated in it a bit too. But he hadn't _at first_. That was the important bit. Really, his participation was all Hitler's fault anyway. Blondes…

He liked the old days, when a huge, smoky figure sporting spears and swords and whatnot from invisible arms could pass in a battle. (Who needed some impressive, flutey, human-thing to show off? You were there to _kill_, not to flaunt.) Before magicians had developed speech impediments, when humans thought it was still honorable to fight for themselves (but not without a little help on the side). And when djinni had still had guts enough to stand their ground in the face of the impossible, NOT crouching in the corner of a side room deep in some tomb like one coward in particular had.

Once upon a time, things like that didn't matter. It was a man and a billowing cloud of smoke.

Things had been simple.

Surviving had been easy.

So, so _easy_.

Hear the order. Put the order into action. Get dismissed.

But now?

Become conveniently deaf while hearing the order. Put some form of the order into action. Get burned.

He was a fox at that point. A small, smoldering fox, patches of singed fur spotting his back. His tail was even sadder; a charred, black, sorry excuse for a bushy appendage.

That old bitch. She made it sound like he deserved the Shriveling Fire…

"I don't know what you're sulking for."

Zeno tried to glare at the black cat perched on the windowsill above him.

"You brought that entirely on yourself," The cat continued, with more than a hint of malicious intent. He indicated Zeno's burns with his paw. "Those are the marks of stupidity, see? That's why you have them and I don't."

"Shut up, Bartimaeus," Zeno snapped. "It was entirely _not_ my fault."

"Really," Bartimaeus drawled.

"Yes, really," Zeno replied brusquely, settling down on the stones leading into their current master's garden. "You had a part in it too."

"Trying to get rid of the evidence? That was charity. I remain blameless," The cat looked down pityingly at him. "You poor thing."

Zeno didn't dignify the comment with a response. Bartimaeus seemed to take his silence as an invitation to continue.

"You know," He said chummily. "I bet licking those would help a bit. That's what animals are supposed to do when they're sore, isn't it? Lick the pain away or something."

"They're on my back. How am I supposed to lick them?"

Bartimaeus grinned. "I could lick them for you."

Zeno growled low in his throat. "If you were worth the trouble, I'd get up and eat you."

"I'm flattered you even thought of it," Bartimaeus assured him. "I'm going inside. How about you?" He gasped, then put a paw over his kitty lips and nose mockingly. "Oh. So sorry. I forgot. She set you out there for the night, didn't she?"

Zeno wanted to get up and hurt him. Really, really badly. Hurting the things that annoyed him always made him feel better.

But his back was so _sore…_

The cat snickered and turned away. "Good night then…you _cute_ little pup."

Zeno barked angrily at him, and the coward skittered away sharpish.

Zeno settled back down again, smirking ever so slightly. At least one thing hadn't completely changed.


End file.
